


Not Shy

by wonderfulwrites



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderfulwrites/pseuds/wonderfulwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't that she's shy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Shy

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the stxi_sinfest. Betaed by the awesome silburygirl and renitaleandra.

It isn't that she's shy.

Nyota has never been shy. Her mother has a story about losing her in a market place in Johannesburg when she was five because she had caught sight of a Tellerite and wanted to meet him. There is another about losing her on Starbase 42 when she was 12 because Nyota had decided it was a good idea to stop and chat with an Andorian in the shuttle bay. There are a dozen other stories with the same theme, and Nyota always huffs indignantly when her mother tells them, but she can't deny the truth. She has always been curious and eager and very much not shy; she goes after what she wants and takes it when it comes to her, but when it comes to Spock, she holds back.

Sometimes she likes to remind herself of the reasons why it would be a bad idea to pursue him. The first is that he is her advisor and has never once indicated he was interested in anything beyond their daily appointments. She also has their careers to consider; anything outside of a strict professional relationship could do a lot of damage to their reputations -- if it didn't get one or both of them drawn up on ethics charges first. Not to mention the fact that he's Vulcan, and Vulcans don't shake hands, let alone have torrid, quasi-ethical affairs with their students. And really, in the end, she suspects she just isn't his type and doesn't want to risk the pain and embarrassment of rejection, so she tries to keep her attraction in check and carries on as if she isn't thinking about the different ways she could have him anytime they happen to be in the same room together.

It's hard, though, and gets harder as time goes on. No one else really compares; Spock is brilliant and beautiful and wickedly funny when you can catch him making a joke. He shares her passion for music, believes that her nascent ideas about improvements on current Starfleet encryption codes have merit, and is able to keep up when she starts in on Romulan interrogative syntax or Vulcan supines. By the time semester's end rolls around, she has fallen for Spock completely, can barely think of anything else. She can't stop having inappropriate fantasies about drawing him down on top of her on the narrow couch in his office, or pushing him down to his knees in the empty communications lab so she can see his head between her thighs, can curl her hands into that glossy black hair.

It's absurd and humiliating, right out of one of those terrible romance novels Gaila thinks are hilarious and refuses to stop reading. Seriously, does this actually happen to people? It's a horrible distraction from the other things she has to worry about, like her coursework and fending off Jim Kirk's ridiculous attempt to get elected as treasurer of the Xenolingustics Club.

Then the sideways glances start, and Spock begins to tilt his head in a way she can't quite translate and asks unexpected questions about her plans for the weekend or her parent's occupations. He even prepares a cup of her favorite tea one night while they are grading final exams, and she isn't sure how he knew. All of this causes her to hope, and hoping can only lead to pain, so she starts to consider switching advisors before she comes apart entirely and destroys her future career.

One night, when Nyota jerks awake from one of her dreams, a vague, non-linear thing full of mouths and skin and hands, she finds Gaila propped up on one elbow and watching her from her bed.

"Ny," she says, clearly annoyed, "it's time to either jump him or let it go. Your pheromones are starting to keep me awake at night."

Too embarrassed to reply, Nyota just turns over, busies herself rearranging the bedding and readjusting her pillow, then settles on her side with her back to Gaila.

Across the room, she can hear Gaila turning over with a squeak of the metal bed frame."Catch him in the turbo lift or trap him in his office or something. Trust me, he'll reciprocate."

Nyota doesn't respond right away, debating whether she should just pretend to have gone back to sleep or to give in and let Gaila give her advice on something that, admittedly, Gaila knows far more about than her.

"How do you know?" she asks at last.

"Because," she says with a yawn, "Vulcans have pheromones, too."

Gaila's words come back to her the next day when she encounters Spock in the turbo lift just before her Xenopsychology class. She isn't wearing make-up and has on yesterday's uniform because she over slept and barely had time for a shower, while he looks neat and tidy as usual, his charcoal uniform flawlessly pressed and not a hair on his head out of place. Nyota tries not to let on that she has just flushed from head to toe on the mere sight of him while all she can think of is that vague dream of mouths and skin and hands.

He nods politely. "Cadet."

She manages an answering nod and a more than passable, "Commander" before she turns to face the doors, expecting little else from him – small talk is another thing Vulcans don't do – and there it is, right in front of her, the emergency stop button.

And that's it. Her mind is made up.

The turbo lift comes to a silent but abrupt stop, and before she lets herself change her mind, she turns on him, takes the few steps to close the distance between them.

He raises an eyebrow. "Cadet?"

She doesn't say anything, just presses in closer, close enough to catch the barest scent of what might be meditation incense on his skin before he takes a step back. She pursues, pressing him until he hits the wall and has nowhere else to go, forcing him either to be in this or to reject her now and get it over with.

Her lips hover near his. "Tell me to stop now, and I will. We can forget this ever happened."

He studies her with those dark, incisive eyes. "There are complications."

Not _Stop, Cadet_. Not even _What are you doing?_, but _There are complications_.

She nods. "I know."

"It would be a violation of our professional relationship."

"We both know that I hardly need to sleep with my professors to improve my grades."

"Indeed."

His protests stop there.

She raises an eyebrow. "Anything else?"

His eyes meet hers evenly. "Merely that I did not tell you to stop."

Permission, then. She is so unbelievably turned on that she is shaking as she leans in to kiss him, a soft, timid press of her lips against his. He doesn't push her away, so she takes it further, cradles his face in her hands, nudges his bottom lip gently with her tongue, and hopes he will respond in kind.

But he pulls away, licks his lips. Her stomach drops, for the first time realizing how out of her depth she really is. Not all species initiate intimacy the same way, and the Vulcans are so secretive, it's entirely possible she has just committed some terrible social taboo in her ignorance.

"Was that wrong?"

His answer comes so quickly she doesn't process it until her back is against the turbo lift wall. It is smooth and cold against her palms as she steadies herself under the onslaught of his mouth, hard and rough on hers, of his hands on her face, trailing down her neck, ghosting along her arm. She takes his head in her hands, the short hair on the back of his head prickling her fingers, and strokes her thumbs along the edge of his ears, her thumbnails scraping along the delicate tips.

He makes a strange, purring sort of noise, alien but so very hot, and his mouth moves along her jaw before he nuzzles her just below her ear, runs one hand down her side, along her hip. His fingers only stop when he finds the hem of her skirt, the flesh of her thigh. Then he's on his knees, those dark eyes on hers as he slides his hands up the outside of her thighs, pushing up her skirt as he goes, revealing her under things, a tame pair of white panties, nothing exotic, nothing like she would have worn had she planned this.

His fingers hook under the elastic at her hips, and he pulls her underwear down her legs, slides them over her boots. She just watches it happen, having long ago given up any and all control to Spock without protest.

"Lift your foot," he says, and she does, lifting one foot then the other as she steps out of her panties. Then they're gone, disappeared into one of Spock's pockets, and her leg is draped over his shoulder, and his mouth is on her, hot and insistent. He flicks his tongue, rolls it over her clit; she throws her head back and gasps, an embarrassing, desperate sound. This is right out of one of her fantasies, but far better than anything she had imagined. It is only made better when Spock adds his fingers to the mix, curling two of them inside of her and beckoning her towards climax.

She comes in silence, with her breath caught in her throat and colors bursting behind her eyes like she's the heroine in one of Gaila's insipid romance novels.

When she can see again, when she can manage to draw air into her lungs, she finds him on his feet, discreetly wiping his mouth and chin with the edge of his sleeve. He turns to her, lowers her skirt and smoothes it down then gives her one last parting kiss, two of his fingers trailing lightly down her arm and over the back of her hand.

He draws away, calm and impassive as if they hadn't just violated several Academy regulations in the turbo lift, and presses the emergency release button.

Almost immediately, the doors slide open.

"I trust you will be prompt for our two o'clock appointment today, Cadet?" he says, and without a backwards glance, he steps out of the lift with her panties still in his pocket.

She nods, breathless, as the doors close between them.

No, Nyota isn't shy.

And apparently, Spock isn't either.


End file.
